


Why

by H_Lee_Trinity



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Abuse, M/M, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H_Lee_Trinity/pseuds/H_Lee_Trinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butters is in a coma after attempting suicide and all Kenny wants to know is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why

Hell's Pass Hospital:

 

‘He doesn’t look like Butters,’ Kenny McCormick thinks to himself. The lump of teenager lying under hospital sheets is almost completely still. His mouth is covered in one of those plastic things that are supposed to help people breath. The name on the clipboard says “Leopold Stotch”. 

He’s not sleeping, Kenny knows, because if he was, he would be snoring happily. But Butters doesn’t look peaceful at all. He seems like he’s dead, already.

“Stop it, Cartman! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kyle is shouting over Kenny’s thoughts.

“What?” Cartman has two fists full of chocolate and is spitting brown over the clean floor. “He’s not gonna eat ‘em.”

“Would you have some common decency? Butters is in a coma!”

“Butters would want me to have the chocolate.”

“Guys, stop arguing, Jesus Christ.” Now Stan is playing mediator. 

Kenny is trying to imagine the lump on the bed singing, “Loo, loo, loo, I’ve got some apples!” like he used to.

“Oh, I know. Kyle just wants all the chocolate to himself! You just wanna Jew me out of candy, again, don’t you, Kyle?”

“Shut the fuck up, Cartman!”

Butters would sing other songs too. But that one seemed like it was always in his head. “Loo, loo, loo!” Kenny would never be annoyed by the sound again, if Butters only would come back.

“Goddammit, you guys!!”

“Stan, he’s eating the gifts people left Butters. When Butters wakes up-”

“It doesn’t matter, dude. Can’t you see he’s not waking up?”

“Jesus, don’t say that, Stan!”

“You heard the man, Kyle. Now come on, I have video games to play and chocolate to eat,” Cartman is gathering the candy and stuffing it into his coat pockets. “Chocolate-covered strawberries? Fucking sick, dude! Who puts fruit in their chocolate?” The tiny box Cartman picked up now drops to the floor.

Kenny watches the strawberries roll in every direction. He didn’t know for sure, but he thinks Butters likes strawberries. As his friends file out of the hospital door, Kenny picks one of the pitted berries from the linoleum. He walks up to the lifeless person they say is Butters, and presses the strawberry into his barely warm hand.

Kenny doesn’t know why Butters would want to kill himself. All he knows is that two days ago, his childhood friend that used to sing silly songs swallowed every pill in his mother’s grand collection of anti-depressants. He didn’t leave a note.

Kenny has to know why.

 

The trailer park near downtown South Park:

 

There’s not a hint of sound coming from inside the trailer, but Kenny knocks regardless. He didn’t walk all the way here to chicken out.

After his second knock, the door of the mobile home swings open. Pete is wearing a button-up black shirt, as usual, his purple knock-off Doc Martins and a cigarette that clings to his scowl.

Pete speaks in mostly heavy sighs, “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.”

The Goth kid takes his pale fingers off the door. He lifts a hand to his cigarette and takes a leisurely drag. Pete blows smoke very slowly in Kenny’s eyes, making them water, then he grabs the door once more and starts to close it.

“Hey!” Kenny snaps and sticks his foot in the crack of the door. “Fucking asshole. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Pete scoffs. “How so?”

After an exchange of drugs that could give them each decades in jail, Pete’s mind is changed and he answers the questions Kenny has.

“After you get it, meet me at Henrietta’s. We’ll coach you through the session.” Pete isn’t even looking at Kenny now.

“Who?”

“Henrietta Biggle, dipstick.” His voice is as flat as the random tire in his yard. He makes one attempt at eye contact with Kenny before slamming the door in his face.

 

1020 South Park Drive - Stotch Residence:

 

Kenny didn’t think he’d feel bad breaking into the Stotch house. And he doesn’t, not until he opens the door and walks into Butters’ empty room. 

His bedroom looks surprisingly similar to how it looked in elementary school. Kenny can only spot a few minor differences. The keyboard is new, he thinks, though Butters has always been the musical type. Looking at the old blue boom-box in the corner depresses him. Couldn’t his parents buy their son a new radio?

Kenny wanders for a few moments, feeling the eyes of each and every poster burn holes into his skin. He touches Butters’ turquoise blanket. It’s cold as ice. He opens a couple drawers and digs around.

Kenny couldn’t hear the Stotchs come home until it felt like Mr. Stotch was yelling directly in his ears.

“It’ll be alright, honey. We can still go on our vacation. Butters is fine.”

“He’s not fine, Stephen. He’s in a coma!”

“Linda, we’ve been planning this trip for a long time. Butters won’t know the difference.”

Kenny slowly begins inching his way to the window. The voices are growing in volume.

“I suppose you’re right, Stephen. But… you don’t think people will be upset if we go back to Hawaii, do you?”

“Of course not! Honey, everyone knows about Butters’ emotional problems. He’s been a bad seed since he was born. We’re tried punishing him, we’ve tried medication and nothing worked. It was only a matter of time before something like this- ”

Sliding open the bedroom window is easy enough but as Kenny glances down, he realizes how high up Butters’ room really is. 

The knob on the door turns in one quick jerk.

Kenny leans over and snatches the sheet music resting atop the keyboard. It has Butter’s handwriting on it and that is good enough for him. With one gulp of bravery, Kenny McCormick flings himself out the window.

He lands squarely in a bush, which probably keeps his bones from breaking, but did nothing to stop the branches from ripping open his clothes and skin. Kenny groans and desperately staggers to his feet. He runs through the pain of his bruises. Until he reaches the bus stop, he doesn’t stop running.

 

1123 South Park Lane – Biggle Residence:

 

He sighs, deeply, then follows it up with another heavy sigh. And at last, sighing once more.

“Well?” Kenny is getting impatient. 

The four Goth kids look up from the sheet music Kenny brought.

Henrietta, the girl Goth sucking from a long skinny cigarette holder, rolls her made-up eyes to the ceiling. “I guess, it’s good enough.”

“Yeah,” The older, tall one nods. He doesn’t have as much of an attitude.

Pete and the younger one busy themselves with clearing a circle.

“You’ll need to focus on your friend’s aura” Henrietta instructs.

“Aura? What’s that?” Kenny asks, watching as the Goth kids now light candles. The small room is glowing eerily. Pete shoves a burning bundle of sticks in his face and waves it around.

Henrietta scoffs at the question and rolls her eyes back to the tall one.

“Just, I don’t know,” the tall one stares at him. “Think about his personality, his interests, all the things that make him him. Jesus, do we have to spell it out for you?”

Alright, maybe Kenny was wrong about the attitude. 

The tall Goth hands Butters’ written music back to him.

Kenny looks at the pages. He studies the small, perfectly legible music notes. He has no idea how to read music, but apparently Butters does. This surprises him, even though it seems obvious. Kenny has seen Butters playing the drums, the piano, the flute. He has heard him sing in the hallways and in class. He even saw him tap dance at competitions when they were younger. 

“Loo, loo, loo. I’ve got some apples.” Kenny sings under his breath. He has a hold on Butters’ aura now.

“Firkle” Pete says aloud and motions to him.

Kenny takes the gem-encrusted dagger the smallest Goth hands him.

“Stab yourself.” The kid named Firkle commands. “Focus on his aura and you’ll find him. Probably.”

Kenny clutches the handle of the knife. He has done this only a couple of times before, each time, more painful and disorienting than the last. But he knows what he has to do, if only to talk to Butters once last time.

With one hand, Kenny gently holds the sheet music; with the other, he lifts the knife to his own chest.

“The neck is faster,” Pete nitpicks. The other Goths nod in agreement.

“Whatever, dude.” Kenny grumbles and raises the blade to his neck.

Killing yourself doesn’t take bravery when you know you’ll return. Still, Kenny hates the feeling of his own blood gushing from wounds. He hates hearing how loud bones could crack and knowing just how much effort it takes to find your own jugular vein. 

After about three minutes of bleeding to death, Kenny’s sight starts to fade. This time, instead of welcoming sleep, Kenny thinks only of Butters. He pins every thought to where Butters might be, and what he would say when he gets there.

 

Unknown Location: 

 

It takes a long time for Kenny to remember what he was doing.

It’s like he woke up inside a dream. There’s the sun, perched in the sky like a yellow bird. And the grass is green, as grass usually is. It’s the sign that confuses him first.

Stark’s Pond – it reads. But this doesn’t make any sense. Stark’s Pond had been destroyed years ago to make room for a Wal-Mart.

Once Kenny remembers that, everything else seems slightly off. The sun is out and yet everything is temperature-less, not warm and not cold. There is no wind. There is no sound.

Kenny clears his throat of discomfort and begins walking towards the lake. Butters always did like skipping stones and feeding the ducks. Maybe this is where his friend has ended up after all.

“Loo, loo, loo, I’ve got some apples, Loo, loo, loo. You’ve got some too!”

Kenny freezes. He squints and sees a seated figure by the edge of the pond. 

“Butters?” Kenny shouts, his voice sounds weird here, too full of life and feeling.

“Kenny? Is that you?”

Kenny takes off towards the lake but no matter how hard he runs, the lake seemingly changes spots several times. He turns around and runs the other way, but Stark’s pond moves again. He spins again, almost tripping.

“Kenny?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “Butters, where are you?”

“Well, I’m right here, silly!”

Kenny opens his eyes. The lake is right next to him. Butters is sitting at a stone checkers table, with a big, buttery grin, and a half played game in front of him.

“Thank goodness, you’re here, Kenny. I was beginning to think no one was gonna come play with me.”

“Butters,” Kenny says with relief.

“That’s me!” Butters responds, joyfully. “Do you wanna play checkers? You can choose red or black. I’m usually red but if you wanna be red, that’s okay.”

“I’ll be black,” Kenny is thrilled. It worked. Maybe those Goth kids aren’t so full of shit after all. He sits down at the bench and sets up his side of the board.

“Well, how’s it going, Kenny? I feel like I haven’t seen you or the fellas in a long time.”

“It’s going okay. How are you?”

“I’m okay too.” 

For a while, they play silently. It isn’t even awkward, Kenny notices, as he immerses himself in the game. He pretends, at least for a few moments that they are children again, hanging out by Stark’s Pond, not worried about anything except homework and video games.

Eventually, he has to shatter the quietness, “I actually came here to ask you something.”

“Ask away, Kenny,” Butters smiles at him, brightly. “You know you’ve always been one of my very best friends, even though we don’t talk very much anymore.”

Kenny shifts uncomfortably. He was right about that. “Yeah, I guess we don’t.”

“I mean,” Butters continued, looking at the checkers, not Kenny. “It seemed like in elementary school, we were always playing games or going on adventures, you know? But then everybody got in their own little group for high school, which is okay, except that I didn’t get to hang out with my old friends as much.”

“We hung out a couple times,” Kenny guiltily responds.

Butters nodded. “Hey you better pay attention, or I’ll win pretty soon.”

“I’m not very good at checkers.”

“I’m pretty good at it. I had some time before you got here to practice.”

“Butters, why did you take all those pills?” Kenny erupts suddenly. 

Butters stares back in confusion, “What pills? Like vitamins?”

“No, um, the pills you took. Your mom’s pills. Was it an accident or…?”

“I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about, Kenny.” Butters gives him a smile, regardless of the conversation. “I’ve just been sitting here, watching the ducks and playing checkers.”

“There aren’t any ducks.” Kenny says, pointing to the barren lake.

Butters doesn’t turn to look. “They were here before you showed up and starting yelling. Then the ducks flew off.”

“I’m sorry, Butters, but… I came here to ask you why. Why did you try to kill yourself?”

Butters laughs in a way that makes Kenny both annoyed and saddened. “I’m sorry but I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I tried to kill myself, I’d probably get grounded.”

Kenny is quiet again. He wonders to himself why Butters would concern himself with being grounded, of all things. They continue their game.

“This is nice, Kenny.” Butters says, with a pleasant smile. “Visiting just like old friends.”

“Yeah, it is nice.”

“Do you remember during Christmas? When the pond would freeze over and all the South Park kids would come here and go ice-skating? That sure was nice. “

“I remember.” Kenny swallows hard. “Sometimes we’d play hockey. But I couldn’t afford ice skates so you’d let me borrow yours.”

“Yeah, well, I was never any good at hockey. I liked watching though. Or keeping score.”

“Yup, it was fun.” His tone is now flat. Kenny looks out to the pond. It has frozen over with the spoken memories the two teenagers shared.

“Look, Kenny, snow!”

Kenny looks up and sees the fuzzy snow falling. It’s not cold enough to snow. The air is still and featureless. Reaching out with one hand, Kenny watches as a snowflake lands perfectly in his palm. He closes his hand, and when it’s opened, the snowflake is gone. Not melted like normal snow, just vanished completely.

“Boy, it was sad when the parents decided to build that Wal-Mart over Stark’s pond. I remember I cried,” Butters says with a laugh. “I know that sounds dumb, but…. I just kept wondering where the ducks would go. We just destroyed their home all because of a store. And then they didn’t like the store anymore and just got rid of that too. So there’s just a big empty building and a bunch of stupid mud.”

Kenny listens to Butters recalling the events. He looks heart-broken and angry.

“You’re gonna lose, Butters.” Kenny whispers, pointing to the game board. His black pieces had almost over taken Butters’ red ones. 

His friend examines the checkers, then suddenly looks directly at him, “Kenny, where are we?”

Kenny admits “I don’t know.”

Silence again.

“I messed up again. Didn’t I, Kenny?” Butters is speaking with a certain edge that comes with defeat. He hangs his head low. “I just can’t seem to stop getting into trouble.”

“You didn’t mess up.” Kenny quickly assures him. “You were just… lonely or sad or….”

That was it. That was the reason Butters took those pills. He was lonely. Obviously. Kenny felt so completely stupid. Butter is looking at him, expecting him to go on but Kenny can’t. He had always thought of Butters as this perpetually happy kid but clearly he wouldn’t attempt suicide if this was the case. There is more to Butters Stotch than joy and songs. And this realization hit Kenny McCormick like a ton of bricks.

“You could have come and talked to me. If you told me how sad you were-” His voice caught on barb-wired emotion.

“Well, I didn’t wanna bother anybody. They were all happy with their new friends and their new teachers. I guess I just missed everyone.” Butters fidgets as he speaks.

“I missed you, Butters.” He means it. 

Butters looks him and smiles. “You’re a good friend, Kenny, coming all the way here just to say goodbye.” 

Kenny’s eyes fill with tears. He coughs into his hand and wipes quickly at his watering eyes. “You could come back. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I don’t know, Ken. It’s pretty nice here. The lake’s frozen now, we could ice skate. I bet we could even find some sticks and a rock and you could teach me how to play hockey. It’ll   
be just like old times.”

For a small moment, Kenny considers this. He thinks about his obnoxious friends who can be entirely stupid, his ridiculous teachers, his shack of a house and his jobless, drug addicted parents. He could just stay.

“I know you get sick of the world too, Kenny.” Butters continues. “But if we stay here, we don’t have to deal with all those bullies and mean people. We can be happy.”

Kenny sighs; looking out at the “world” they were in. “Happiness is a myth, Butters. No one’s happy all the time, not even here. I have to go back.”

“I’m not going back,” Butters says firmly.

Kenny moves one piece capturing Butters last token. “You don’t have to, Butters.” He stares into Butters’ clear baby blues. He wants him to remember and believe every word. “As much as I want you to come home, it’s your choice.”

With that, Kenny gets up, brushing his jeans out of reflex, and begins waking away. 

“Kenny?”

He glances back at Butters with his checkers game.

“Aren’t you gonna finish the game? Who am I gonna play with?” Butters gestures towards the checkers game. The little game pieces have moved back to their starting positions. No evidence of a previous game remains.

“I have to go. I hope I see you again really soon, Butters.” Kenny pauses. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Kenny.” Butters waves with one hand. “Goodbye, old friend.” His expression is more confused than anything. Kenny hopes he understands what’s happening.

“Bye,” Kenny whispers back and turns away.

Kenny walks for a while. Once he was sure Stark’s Pond isn’t behind him anymore, he lays down, exhausted, in the too-green grass. He closes his eyes and thinks about his bed back at home. He thinks about his family, as screwed up as they were. He thinks of his friends, as dense and careless as they could be. He wants to be back in a world with them in it. Soon, he falls asleep.

 

2057 South Park Street – McCormick residence:

 

“Fuck,” Kenny mumbles into his pillow before opening his eyes.

His room is unchanged - messy and small, holes in the ceiling where insulation peeks through. Past the thin walls of his home, Kenny could hear his parents arguing over a baggy of drugs. 

Kenny rolls onto his back. He knows if he tries to get up after one of his death experiences, he might fall down from vertigo. And so, he relaxes and counts to twenty.

His cell phone buzzes softly.

Heart jumping at the sound, Kenny reaches over to his nightstand and holds his breath as he reads the text that was sent to him. 

Grinning ear to ear, he leaps up, throws on his orange parka and heads out to visit a close friend at Hell’s Pass.


End file.
